


love hangs herself with the sheets in her cell

by servetas



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Internalized Homophobia, Lesbian Dee, from like high school, talking it out, they know each other from high school, which is canon bc i said so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-20 22:16:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21289034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/servetas/pseuds/servetas
Summary: If she drops it, God knows when she'll have a chance to bring it up again – like she's imagined herself doing for years in her head. Imagined her, cornering up the Waitress, demanding to know. How are you? Did you figure it out? Do you remember?or, when dee and the waitress get trapped in an elevator, they finally get a chance to set the record straight
Relationships: Dee Reynolds/The Waitress (It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia), Mac McDonald/Dennis Reynolds
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46





	love hangs herself with the sheets in her cell

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know if you can tell that i'm a lesbian but i'm a lesbian babey! so this is a moment most pleasing to me in the midst of working on my first multi-chaptered work. but i hope you liked this as much i did, bc i'm a big self harmer apparently - however, if you hated this (and rightly so) feel free to yell at me on [tumblr](https://thelesbiancometh.tumblr.com/) bc i love being yelled at, and i also take prompts. have fun if you do read this and i hope you enjoy!

If she’s being honest with herself – and she never is – Dee doesn’t remember a time when she didn’t hate Dennis’ guts.

And she can admit that. It’s not too hard, since no one can tolerate Dennis for more than an hour at a time, and he  _ was _ voted  _ Most Likely To Be Hate-Crimed _ senior year in high school. Well, not entirely. But in a universe where Dee had friends in high school and could thus manipulate them on her every whim, she is positive she would have made it happen.

What is her point, exactly? Dennis is absolutely, no-doubt-about-it, downright  _ obnoxious. _ And this is exactly why this is so mind-boggling, that she is even here today, in a goddamn nice-smelling and clean apartment block to visit her dear brother –  _ Dennis, _ the one that has been in a secure relationship for months, out of all people.

It’s not that she’s jealous. Why would she be jealous? If she really thinks about it, really digs deep and spaces out and  _ thinks, _ there are the tiny things; how she was the first one to come out, way before Dennis even knew the reason why he kept offering to lather Mac’s back in sunscreen even when it was overcast, and how she has been comfortable in her own skin enough to put herself out there and seek connections – and even after all that, these little things that shouldn’t even seem worth worrying about, Dennis is the one that is in a goddamn relationship and moving in with someone.

It’s absurd. It’s even more absurd when she thinks about how much of a horrible human being Dennis is, and how the universe should never in a million years be rewarding him by letting him be able to bang the person he has been loving from afar, especially since he didn’t even know about it. And  _ Mac.  _ A first class traitor, Mac is, betraying the self-evident lesbian/gay solidarity bond like that. With  _ Dennis. _

Dee didn’t even fucking pretend to be happy for them and the new apartment – she just had an argument with Dennis, convinced Charlie to help her rip down a poster of Mac’s that he had hung on the living room (some idiotic goddamn hard rock band, the ones he pretends to listen to so he can look all tough) and stormed out, neck vein bulging as she punched the elevator button and waited, thinking about what a piece of subhuman shit Dennis is.

And, well. Dee is a good sister. Truly, especially considering what she has to work with, Dee is a goddamn  _ spectacular _ sister, and she can be happy about Dennis finally deciding to stop lying to himself and do them all a favour. What she can’t be happy about is her inability to settle down, just like him, and if she thinks about how much better she is than Dennis in every other aspect and how much better she is at being gay than him and his boy toy combined, she is singlehandedly going to combust – so she doesn’t, and instead tries to empty her head as the elevator doors pop open.

Dee steps in and slumps against the wall, grumpily pushing on the button to take her to the lobby. Nice apartments are overrated anyway. Who needs a goddamn fireplace to cuddle in front of in the winter, or a working AC for those fucking heatwaves, or spacious bathrooms that don't completely fog up when you dare to take a shower?

Dennis and Mac, apparently.

Instead of taking her straight to the lobby, the elevator stops on the first floor, and Dee inspects her chipped nail polish. She can't even afford to redo her nails, but goddamn Dennis can afford to live in a nice place with a semi-attractive boyfriend and friendly neighbours. Not that they will like him, anyway, but complaining is the only thing that gets her off these days.

The elevator doors pop open again, and Dee watches as a pair of white tennis shoes shuffle inside, the lady pausing as soon as she sets foot in it. She looks up.

"Dee?"

The first thing she notices is the Waitress' hair, now brown and short, stringy curls tight around her head. It's almost angelic, cherubic. She tries not to think about it too much.

"Waitress? What are you doing here?"

She doesn't mention the name, though Dee can tell that it physically pains her. "What–" she sighs, stepping in fully and pressing the button to the third floor – where Dee was just at. "Charlie nicked my diary out of my bag again and he told me to come over here to get it," she scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. "Said something about showing me his new apartment – I don't really give a shit."

"Wish I could say the same…" Dee murmurs, resting her head on the elevator walls, the colour of the Waitress' tank top vibrant in her peripheral vision. Lilac suits her. She almost tells her, too. "You look… alright today."

"Don't start," the Waitress rubs at her temples, looking about ready to say something else – but then the whole elevator shakes, causing Dee to almost bang her head against the wall so hard it would guarantee her a concussion, and stops completely, lights shutting off.

It takes a few second for the Waitress' breathing to start getting heavy. "What–" she says helpfully, touching the steel doors. Stuck shut. "Oh, my God, we're stuck!"

"We're not  _ stuck," _ Dee scoffs, tone condescending. "Let me just–" and then she takes on kicking at the doors, trying to pry them open. Surprisingly, it doesn't work, and she ends up glancing back at the Waitress' panic–stricken face. "Shit, we're stuck."

"Jesus–  _ Shit," _ she spits, starting to bang on the door, handbag slowly sliding down her shoulder. "Hey! Help!"

"Goddamn it!" Dee screams, back to kicking the door, ignoring the Waitress' pleas for her to stop. "Those goddamn  _ boners– _ Happy now, shitheads?" she screams at no one in particular, since she doubts the shitheads in question can really hear her from the safety of the apartment. "Goddamn new apartment and all that crap– Fucking  _ balls!" _

"Hey, hey, calm down!" the Waitress says, touching her head against the wall. "Panicking will get us nowhere. Let's just–  _ Someone _ is bound to notice the elevator isn't working. Let's… relax."

_ "Relax?" _ Dee shrieks, arms crossed over her chest, eyes incredulous. She's trapped in a steel prison all over again. "Don't tell me to  _ relax. _ You're not the one trapped in a goddamn elevator with someone who's been actively chasing around your brother."

The Waitress falters, glancing at her from her peripheral vision. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me," she spits, slowly sliding down the wall, up until she's sat on the floor, head thrown back in exasperation. "Unless you've finally done us all a favour and gotten over him. But, if that's not the case, I've got some  _ bad _ news for ya."

"You're so goddamn  _ rude, _ it's–" the Waitress takes a deep breath, the strap of her tank sliding down her shoulders as she begins to gesture wildly. Dee tries to focus on her eyes – not that much better. "What's it to– to you if I'm fucking  _ chasing after _ your brother– Which I'm  _ not, _ anyway. Why do you care?"

Dee looks at her as if she's the dumbest person alive – although she's just made an excellent point. But they don't have time for that right now. "He's my brother? Everything he does is my business."

"Brother, my ass," she laughs, like it's the funniest goddamn thing she's ever heard, strap still off her shoulder. "You two hate each other's guts. And I don't blame either of you, if I'm honest."

"Can you lift that–" Dee reluctantly motions to the general direction of her own shoulder – the Waitress frowns, confused eyes catching the strap down her shoulder, and she lifts it back up. She looks at Dee as if she's crazier than she looks. "Thanks. And what's that supposed to mean?"

The Waitress scoffs, shaking her head, glued back against the wall. "Forget it."

"No, I'm not gonna forget it. Stop being a goddamn coward and finish what you were gonna say."

The Waitress pretends she doesn't hear her, only glancing at her as she takes her own seat on the floor, back against the wall, legs drawn up to her chest in sharp contrast to Dee's outstretched ones. The ringlets around her head look like a halo, if Dee focuses hard enough, and for better or for worse she does, trying to memorise how they twist and turn behind her ear, how she lifts a single finger and pulls on one, only for it to spring back into its place.

Dee looks at the floor instead. Safer.

"Can you not take up the whole space?" the Waitress says suddenly, nudging one of Dee's legs with her foot. Dee glares at her. "Come on. There's not much space in here, anyways."

Dee doesn't do anything for a while, out of sheer pride, but when the Waitress looks like she's going to chew her out some more she gathers her legs up, crossed in front of her.

"I swear the tiniest things get you all annoyed lately," Dee scoffs, punching the door of the elevator once. Again, nothing happens.

"Shut up."

"Is it because you're sober now?" she presses, not even looking at her. She raises her eyebrows at the floor. "Good for you. I mean– I can take you sober annoyed and obnoxious over  _ drunk _ annoyed and obnoxious any day."

"Shut up," the Waitress repeats, the calm before the storm, head buried in one hand.

"What did it for you? Did Dennis tell you to do that, too? Or was it your liver failure or some–"

"Shut  _ up!" _ she screams, kicking at Dee's knee, shorts riding up her thigh. "God, don't any of you assholes know when to  _ shut _ it? Hell, I can't believe I ever–" she stops herself, positively fuming, her attempt to take deep breaths ruined by her biting the inside of her cheek.

Dee just looks at her, emotionless. "You can't believe you ever  _ what?" _

The Waitress looks at her, eyes murderous, shaking her head. "You don't know when to shut the fuck up, do you?"

"It's one of my many negative qualities," Dee says, ever so smart, pressing and pressing until she can't anymore. "You can't believe you ever  _ what?" _

"It's none of your goddamn business…" she murmurs under her breath, nose dusting pink. "I can't believe I ever… Even liked Dennis."

Dee scoffs, drawing one leg up to her chest.  _ "Liked. _ As if you don't still sniff after him. Don't you have any dignity left?"

"I don't fucking sniff– What's so hard to understand?" her eyes are bulging out, hands popping tendons. "Dennis and I, whatever it was – or  _ never _ was –" she huffs, raising her eyebrows, "it's over. It never started. I don't…  _ care _ about him, alright? So stop saying I do."

Dee raises her hands up in surrender, shutting her mouth for just a second. It can't be for too long, though. "You sound a bit touchy to me…"

"Goddamn it, Dee–" the Waitress huffs under her breath, sliding over so that she's closer to the door, banging and punching with all her strength.  _ "Hey! _ The elevator's stuck, you goddamn dickheads! Where  _ is _ everybody?"

"Oh, expensive apartment blocks– No one's ever around," Dee says, waving a dismissive hand. "It's like, they're too rich to stay inside, you know?"

The Waitress ignores her, still banging on the door, eventually giving up and resting her head against it in surrender. Her shirt rides up her back, just the tiniest bit, and Dee distracts herself by twisting her cellphone around in her pocket.

Oh, shit.

"Shit!" she says, and the Waitress twists around, alarmed. "How didn't I think of that? Your stupid must be contagious, short stuff."

The Waitress doesn't get the chance to chew her out because Dee takes out her mobile, and realisation rapidly clouds over her eyes. "Oh!" and she reaches into her handbag, digging around vigorously.

"Okay, okay, calm down," Dee murmurs, dialing Dennis' number. "Didn't know you enjoyed my company that much, Jeez…"

"You bet…" the Waitress says under her breath, phone already up against her ear. The colour drains from her face, and Dee pauses on the last digit. "Shit, no signal. Try yours."

"I seriously doubt I'm gonna have signal if you don't, little one, but…" she shrugs, bringing her phone up against her ear. And, indeed… "No signal."

"This is just  _ great," _ the Waitress says, collapsing back onto her original seat, right opposite from Dee. "Fucking  _ amazing. _ I'll probably die here with goddamn  _ Dee Reynolds _ out of all people."

"You should be grateful," she nudges her foot playfully, but the Waitress glares at her. "Alright, Jesus… You're so goddamn serious all the time, man."

The Waitress snorts. "Serious? Me,  _ serious? _ You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, my God, really? I don't think I've ever seen you have fun, like, ever."

"What?" she says, trying to muster up an incredulous look. She fails. "I have– Sure, I have fun. I have  _ tons _ of fun. With tons of people."

"Please," Dee laughs, head lolling to the side, "you have never had any friends, from what I can remember. Even high school, you kept hanging out around class and helping out the staff. I mean," she snorts, "who does that voluntarily?"

"Good people. Not that any of  _ you _ would know," the Waitress snaps, arms crossed defensively. "And I  _ chose _ to do that. People wanted to be my friends. Sure, they did."

"Are you dumb?" Dee deadpans, nodding when the Waitress glares at her – again. "Sorry, sorry. But you're just bullshitting me at this point."

"Look, Dee, I don't know why I'm even talking about this since it's none of your business – not anymore," she laughs, feigning nonchalance. "But I'll have you know that I have  _ tons _ of friends,  _ tons _ of fun, and  _ tons _ of sex. Alright? Happy now?"

Dee's heart would clench under different circumstances. Guess she'll never know. "Oh, come on. The only reason why you have sex is so that you can feel good about yourself and you know it."

"Look who's talking!" the Waitress yells, and Dee frowns. "Seeking validation through sex is  _ your _ thing, Dee!"

_ "Was _ my thing!" Dee yells back, although it feels sour on her tongue.  _ "Was _ – but I stopped lying to myself a long time ago, unlike you!"

"Oh, yeah?" the Waitress laughs, shakes her head. "And what's  _ that _ supposed to mean?"

Dee just stares. "You know damn well what it's supposed to mean."

"Well, I don't," the Waitress says, and that's that. "And you don't either. So, don't pretend that you do."

If she drops it, God knows when she'll have a chance to bring it up again – like she's imagined herself doing for years in her head. Imagined her, cornering up the Waitress, demanding to know.  _ How are you? Did you figure it out? Do you remember? _

Dee finally feels it, deep in her bones, how much she's missed talking to other women. Talking to other women and enjoying it, not pushing them away or having other people push them away. How much she's missed talking to  _ her. _

Scoffing, frustrated as ever, Dee forms her hands into claws and explodes: "Do you even  _ remember?" _

The Waitress' head jerks up, eyes wide. Well. There's the answer.

"What are you talking about?" she says instead, eyes pleading.  _ Please stop. Don't bring this up.  _ "I'm starting to think you picked up the booze where I left off, because–"

"Just shut up," Dee snorts, slamming her hand down onto her own thigh in exasperation. "Aren't you  _ tired? _ Are you– Is this what you want your life to be?"

The Waitress looks spaced out, though Dee knows she's listening to every word that's being said. Eyes glazed over, she shakes her head, brow furrowed. "Fuck you, Dee. How can you say that?"

"Are you going to blame it all on me?" Dee says, eyes glued on the Waitress – the Waitress' eyes glued to the ceiling. "Like you always have? Fuck me, I guess."

"Fuck you," the Waitress agrees, sniffing silently hugging her legs against her chest. Dee shouldn't be allowed to be alone with women. Well, Dee shouldn't be allowed to  _ speak. _

For this reason, she decides to leave it be, sighing to herself with her head tilting to the side, observing the ceiling with utmost attention. The Waitress still sniffing, the elevator still solid.

"Do I remember…" she scoffs suddenly, and Dee's so surprised she can't even hide her head whipping around. And Dee, despite herself – she laughs, the Waitress laughing tearily along. "If you mean that aluminum prison you carried around with you, then, yeah, Dee… I think everyone does."

This is absolutely not what she meant. But Dee doesn't find it in her to be offended, anyhow – it's because the Waitress is incapable of offending anyone even if she wanted to, and absolutely nothing else. "Ha, good one. But I meant more like you asking Dennis to be your date for prom  _ five _ times until he  _ had _ to say yes."

"First of all," the Waitress sniffs, the tiniest hint of amusement in her eyes, "it was  _ two _ times. You're making me sound like some sort of–"

"Desperate dork?"

The Waitress laughs, wiping under her eyes with her thumb. "Yeah. That's it."

And Dee chuckles a laugh through her nose, breathy and hesitant, observing her fingers itching her own knee. Granted, the Waitress is still playing with the Shirley Temple curls around her face, twisting them around in her fingers, and they look so soft and silky – Dee looks at her fingers again, copying the motion, pretending the loose thread in her jeans is a tiny brunette curl, pretty on her skin.

"I never–" the Waitress begins, but cuts herself off, glancing up at Dee briefly to see if she's paying attention. She always is. "I never even liked him."

Dee's eyes betray her and she looks her way, brow furrowed. "What?" She knows what she means.

"I never even  _ liked _ him. Dennis," the Waitress says, and it looks like it hurts to even utter. "It wasn't like that. I have never liked him."

Dee must look the walking epitome of perplexed. "Well, that's fine… No one does."

The Waitress doesn't laugh. Instead, she presses the heel of her palm into her eye, lip curling, taking a deep breath. If she starts crying, Dee will have to dig up a hole and escape that way.

"With Dennis– He doesn't even like his own guts, trust me," she continues, desperate to cheer the Waitress up. It's because she hates it when people cry, in  _ general _ . She just hates weakness. "It's just one of those things. Not even– Not even Mac likes him most of the time. And he's  _ dating _ the damn guy. Don't you–"

"Dating  _ Mac? _ You're telling me even  _ Dennis _ can–" she stops again, before she says something she's gonna regret, the first tear sliding down her cheek. Dee feels like she's watching an impending trainwreck – she wants to look away, and God knows she does, but she just  _ can't. _ "But, no. I never liked him. I only– Fuck…" and she buries her palm deeper into her eye, fully crying, Dee caught in the middle of her and her emotions.

She can only be silent now. It feels like anything she could say would be wrong, would make things worse. Everything she's ever done has made things worse, especially regarding the Waitress, who is now silently sobbing into her palm. And Dee knows why – but at the same time she doesn't, and that's killing her.

And then, the Waitress sniffs harshly, hand hiding half of her face: "Why did you never call?"

Heart jumping, eyes unblinking, Dee falters and is left staring at the steel door of the elevator, brain processing the sniffled question.  _ Why did you never call? _ She would love not to know what the hell that is supposed to mean, but she does; Dee knows goddamn well what the Waitress is talking about, or crying about, and her heart doesn't stop jumping and clenching even as she opens her mouth.

"H–Huh?" she says, because of course she does; the universe where Dee Reynolds would ever take responsibility for her own actions hasn't been created yet, and thus she and everyone around her will just have to make do with this version of herself: reckless and selfish. The only version of herself.

The Waitress must deem it just as ridiculous, by the looks of it – the whole pretending not to know shtick – and she makes sure to make it show. She scoffs, for the millionth time today, and her mascara is now running freely down her cheeks, painting her beautiful face with black streaks. And, yeah, Dee thinks she's beautiful. She really does. 

"You said you would…" the Waitress continues, making eye contact. Pretty eyes, bloodshot. "You– Why didn't you? It's like we– We gave in and… then nothing. Nothing was there after that."

Dee cannot physically bear to hear anymore, but she wants to – she wants to talk this out, wants to apologise. For the first time in her life, Dee Reynolds wants to make it better.

"It wasn't like I didn't…  _ want _ to," she says, sounding so small she can't bear it.

The Waitress glares at her, the first time she uncovers her face. "Then why didn't you, Dee? Do you have  _ any idea _ how that felt? Do you know how  _ shit _ it was for me?"

"I don't know what to tell you."

"Oh, you don't? How about sorry?  _ Sorry about lying on prom night. _ Let's start with that."

"Let's get one thing straight–" Dee glares back, growing frustrated. "I wasn't lying. None of that was lies. You're being unfair."

"Oh, _ I'm _ being unfair?" the Waitress yells, and Dee can swear she feels the elevator shake. "I'm sorry, Dee. I'm  _ so _ sorry for being unfair– In fact, I think there's nothing wrong with what you did, alright? Is that what you really want to hear? Sure– Having sex with someone and promising to make something out of it only to never call is  _ totally fine. _ In fact, I encourage it."

"Stop being so dramatic!" Dee slams her hand on the floor, in the hopes that the elevator will drop and lead them to their doom. "You have no idea how it felt! You have no goddamn  _ clue _ what I was going through!"

"As if I wasn't going through the exact same thing!" the Waitress is full on screaming now, the definition of unhinged. "You always need to be the victim! Just admit for once in your life that you were in the wrong!"

"I  _ was _ wrong!" her throat feels raw, but it feels so damn good to be letting it out, having an outlet for her rage and regret after all these years. "I was fucking  _ wrong– _ And you know what else? I was a bitch! I was a selfish, ignorant, disgusting  _ cunt– _ And I'm no better now! And I have to live with knowing that for the rest of my life! Alright?"

The Waitress is rubbing at her eyes again, sobbing behind her palms, and Dee worries that if she screams again, the bulging vein in her neck is bound to pop. Dying here doesn't seem so bad, after all, here in the tense silence, the knowledge that if the Waitress had two bullets and in front of her sat Dee and Charlie, she would shoot Dee twice.

Another sniffle is heard. "Don't goddamn tell me I don't know how it feels…" the Waitress murmurs again, talking to the floor. "You know why I kept running after Dennis, Dee? Do you even know, or are you too self-absorbed to look further than yourself for  _ one _ goddamn second?"

Dee doesn't reply. Instead, she lifts herself up on her knees, listening attentively – but the Waitress doesn't react.

"I wanted to be closer to  _ you. _ All conceited, egotistical, terrible parts of you. You were like the booze – I knew being around you was harmful, but when I wasn't it just felt…"

Dee helps, slowly shuffling closer by the second: "Wrong."

The Waitress looks up, black stained eyes teary. "Wrong. It felt bad. And being around you felt even worse because– Because you never fucking called. You never picked up the phone and goddamn  _ called, _ not once."

Heavily, Dee settles down next to her, finding that she smells as nice as she did from the other side of the tiny space. She just opts for staring her down for now, listening, like she's never done before.

The Waitress pauses for a second. "And I  _ wanted _ to call. I did. I wanted to call and tell you how much of a goddamn bitch you are."

Dee laughs despite herself, and the Waitress' head lolls towards her, exhausted; red-rimmed eyes looking ready to slip shut.

"Then why didn't you?" Dee murmurs, a single finger tracing down the Waitress' shoulder, letting her tank's strap fall down again; but this time it doesn't feel unattainable. Dee is touching, Dee is smelling, Dee is  _ feeling. _

The Waitress shrugs, face inches away. "It was you.  _ You _ needed to do it. You  _ said _ you'd do it."

Sighing, Dee reaches out and tangles her finger into the curls she'd been admiring from afar; they stretch and pop back into the beautiful ringlets, ethereal over the fair skin and Dee's black nail polish. Sighing again, she looks her in the eye. "Did you ever figure it out?"

And the Waitress – the Waitress just stares on, chewing on the inside of her cheek, and when she smiles, Dee feels herself grow warm all over.

"I'm starting to."

And then, like magnets, they grow closer and share the kiss they've been wanting to share for the longest time; softly, Dee's hand against the Waitress' jawbone, the Waitress' nose tickling Dee's cheek, in no hurry, because they have all the time in the world. The Waitress takes the time to feel Dee's waist under her jacket, mentally compares how it feels now to how it felt back then, and comes to the conclusion that her heart is still jumping rope inside her chest, her fingers still trembling. And Dee – Dee would love to say that she feels nothing, but she feels  _ everything. _ All the things she's been missing out on, Dee feels rushing towards her like a shockwave, and the skin beneath her fingertips is soft and familiar, inviting.

They break it off, the Waitress immediately starting to lay little kisses on Dee's cheek, her touch like a pond in the middle of a desert.

"You haven't forgotten…" Dee mutters, cheekbone burning hot against the Waitress' mouth. "I thought you would have, but–"

"I didn't," the Waitress affirms. "I never did." But then she falters, pulls away from Dee the tiniest bit, just a little surge forward enough for them to share another kiss again. "I can't do this again, Dee. I can't feel like that again– Unless you tell me this is going somewhere. That you'll call. That– Tell me you're not gonna run away."

She doesn't even have to think it through. Through all the years that Dee has been dreaming of this moment, this very exchange, she knew it was going to be the hardest thing she'll ever have to do; and it is, but this part is the easiest. This is what she's known for the longest time, even when she didn't call, and when she cut the Waitress off, when she repressed herself to cope.

Easily, warmly, Dee whispers: "This is going somewhere. This is going  _ everywhere." _

And the Waitress doesn't have the time to beam, because Dee surges forward again, wanting to show her how much this moment means to her, hands gripping tightly at her sides, fearing that if she lets go she will wake up and this will turn out to be another dream.

And it  _ is _ a dream. Just the real kind.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! have a wonderful day!


End file.
